


Gold

by NotANerd133



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Drama & Romance, F/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-05-31 03:28:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6453553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotANerd133/pseuds/NotANerd133
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha Romanoff begins to question her relationship with engineer Clint Barton after meeting one of Tony Stark's best friends, Steve Rogers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> First time publishing a story on AO3. Let's see where this story goes.

I was nine years old when my mother taught me about love.

She stirred soup in a big silver pot we bought from the flea market the week before. I sat at our kitchen table, folding napkins in a haphazardly fashion. Father wasn't home yet, so she decided it was best to start cooking dinner. I wasn't a stranger to her childhood stories or the wild tales she spun in her web. But that night had been different.

"Little Natalia," she sang, and I smiled. "Oh, I wonder what love they will give you." She saw my puzzled expression and said, "The boys, you know."

Boys? They were already throwing themselves at my feet, handing me flowers, praising my beauty. Was that not what love was?

"Those boys only seek what they see on the outside, ignoring how beautiful you are within," she said, stopping her stirring and facing me. "We wouldn't leave you in their hands even if our lives depended on it. Yeah, 'cause we know better."

I understood. Love, the selfish kind, was bad. But it's a tempting desire, to like someone for their looks and nothing else. I hadn't experienced real love, apparently, because I kept being a fool. And you'd be surprised, for a girl my age, to be in a relationship, which I wasn't, though crushes were bases here. A simple school girl crush, based on appearance, personality irrelevant to anything and everything.

Because if they liked your looks and you liked theirs, why did that matter?

My mother rattled on. "Your father and I, we both found each other's beauty mesmerizing, but what drew us together was our personalities; fire in our hearts, kindness towards others, having the ability to trust even though it might've seemed frightening. You won't know about these qualities just by glancing at someone. You ask questions and keep learning until you can read one another as if you were both open books." She had turned off the stove, stirring our soup a couple times to make sure it was ready to eat.

I had so many questions though I knew she couldn't answer all of them. I wasn't sure what they even were, for that matter. Besides, I was a young girl. I didn't need answers about relationships when I wouldn't get involved in them anytime soon.

My father came in after, kissing me on top of my head, laying his suitcase by the kitchen doorway. He wrapped his arms around my mother and they swayed back and forth, humming their favorite Russian hymn together. There was something so touching and endearing about the way they showed affection. I kept staring, tilting my head, wondering if I would ever get a partner and if we'd end up like my parents.

That wish came in the form of a man named Clint Barton nine years later.

I met him at the airport the first day I arrived in New York City to start my career as a ballet instructor at a very private dance company: The Shield Agency. I'd been trying to catch a cab to my new apartment, but none would stop for me. I sat on one of my suitcases, wondering if I could carry some of my belongings with me to a nearby hotel, when I heard someone say, "Last time I saw a woman sitting on her luggage, she got splashed with dirty rain water and broke down crying afterwards."

I glanced up to see a man in his early 20s, smiling down at me with grey eyes that reminded me of a storm. His dirty blonde hair was neatly combed, but that was to be expected when you were dressed in a suit, briefcase in hand. I responded, "That's the equivalent of breaking a nail and I don't cry over broken nails."

He chuckled and held his hand out for me to take. I took it and he pulled me up from my luggage.

He introduced himself. "Clint Barton."

I told him my name—it wasn't Natalia Alianovna Romanov anymore, not since I filed my immigrant papers—the Americanized translation. "Natasha Romanoff."

That day, he'd given me a ride to my place, not in a fancy sports car like I suspected he would have, but a slim, black limousine. He told me about his business, Hawk Industries, and him being the CEO of the entire corporation. Before I got out, he gave me his number, telling me to call him anytime I needed something. Now, I'm not the type to rely on people, but I was alone in America and he obviously wanted to know me better and I really needed a friend to show me the ropes.

So, I called him. And those calls led to hangouts and those hangouts led to dates and those dates led to our engagement. Our wedding, which was only nine months away, was going to be everything I dreamed of having, everything I always wanted.

But had I known the next few months would force me to question our relationship and question everything I've ever known about love, I wouldn't have regretted my engagement to Clint Barton. I wouldn't regret meeting him before I met the man who would change my life forever:

Steve Rogers.

And this is where we begin the real story.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha Romanoff begins to question her relationship with engineer Clint Barton after meeting one of Tony Stark's best friends, Steve Rogers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos and bookmarks!

_August_

We were having a charity dinner at The Shield Agency that night because my boss, Nick Fury, was in need of some extra funding for a project he wanted done upstairs on the fourth floor of our building. I found it strange that whenever he needed money, even though we knew he had plenty of it, he always had to throw a huge party to get people supporting him. Maria Hill, his assistant and one of my closest friends, had explained his motives for doing this two hours before the event started as she was helping us prep everything.

She handed me a clipboard and moved toward a man holding a bouquet of red roses, directing him towards the back of the room where the ice sculpture of Shield's logo stood. Surrounding it were several types of flowers, ranging from carnations to, you guessed it, roses. I observed the clipboard in my hands, searching down the list until I found the box I had to cross off.

" _Pierce and I are like brothers_ , he says. _So instead of using my money for my own shit, I'll mooch off of him_." She sends me an irritated look and glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone else heard her. That's the thing about Maria—she spent most of her time talking shit, but we all knew she loved her job and complaining was in the job description. Besides, her and Nick have known each other for years so these comments were nothing but jibes at his expense anyway. She whispered, "The old man is a scam artist, Tash. I'm still surprised Pierce stuck with him this long. If I was him, I would have left Nick's ass _years_ ago."

"You'd be surprised what people do for their friends, Maria," I said, handing her back the clip board. The elevator on this floor chimed and I gazed past her to see who was getting off. At first, nothing seemed out of place; just the occasional blur of other employees such as myself dressed in black and white dresses or suits. But then I had to squint because, well, there was someone who was different from the rest of us.

He stood out like a sore thumb. As workers buzzed around him, he kept standing there, uncomfortable, I might add, eyes nervously flicking around to view his surroundings. He fiddled with the end of his opened plaid flannel, a sketchbook pinned between his left arm, and a pencil tucked behind his ear. He turned his head in my direction and our eyes locked.

I froze, a deer caught in the headlights.

Maria must have saw the expression on my face and said, more to herself than me, "Look's like our artist is here for tonight."

I stared at her, the man completely forgotten. "Why do we need an artist?"

"Nick brought him on board due to this partnership we have with Stark Industries," she explained, motioning her hands while she talked. "Apparently, Tony Stark is writing a book—don't ask me why." She said in response to my mouth almost about to speak. "And he wants realistic drawings of the companies he has good relations with. These drawings feature the CEO's and employees and the building's structure, inside and out, which can only be drawn by the best."

My eyebrows furrowed. "Just how long is this going to take?"

"Might be a couple months, at least for our business it is. I mean, the book itself isn't even written yet so it won't be published until another year or two." Maria pushed her kind-of-but-not-really-long brown hair back and stood beside me. She shrugged. "You know how Stark is, always rolling his punches without anything to fall back on later."

"I guess, but this all seems too..." I trailed off, realizing that the artist I locked eyes with was now walking in our direction. Maria followed my gaze.

"Things are about to get interesting, aren't they?" She whispered, playfully. I glared. She raised her hands defensively. "Just saying."

And then he was standing in front of us, an aura of authority around him now. He was all blonde hair and blue eyes and a pretty smile and before he even spoke, I felt like I knew what type of person he was; an individual so humble and modest that the word _lie_ was a foreign concept in his dictionary. I considered myself a people reader, always knowing someone based off of tiny details and behavior patterns.

I noticed that he avoided my eyes because I made him nervous. He kept his stare fixated on Maria, looking everywhere but at me. He spoke directly to her, torso turned towards her, body language extremely casual by the way he shoved his hands in his pockets and sent her an easy going smile.

But he wouldn't meet my gaze, pretending I didn't exist. Strangely enough, I found myself wanting to catch his attention. So, I did what I always did and listened, waiting to ask a question.

"You must have amazing artistic skills, Steve,"—I had been tuning in on their conversation and learned that the artist had a name: Steve Rogers—"if Tony Stark uses you as his go-to guy when he wants drawings done."

Steve simply shrugged, his modesty weaving its way through his words. "I'm a good artist, but I wouldn't exactly call my skills amazing. They're average, at best."

"Wanna test that theory?" I asked, my voice edging on the dangerous territory of flirtatious. Internally, I scowled. That wasn't appropriate behavior or the correct tone to use when addressing a, supposedly, new colleague at work.

Apparently, he, too, was surprised, eyes widening slightly. He answered, "Maybe. It depends...on what you do here exactly? Yeah, exactly." He scratched behind his neck. "That's what I was going for..."

I had the lingering thought that this was the first time a girl had ever flirted with him. Accidentally, I mean. Well, I knew that, but he didn't.

Maria started talking and I was grateful. She nudged my side, smiling bright as the sun. "Natasha is one of our most talented ballet instructors. Possibly the best in the entire building."

My mouth twitched.

Steve nodded. Then, he asked, "Mind if I sketch one of your classes sometime?"

It didn't matter what I said, I realized, because our deal with Stark meant complying without argument. Steve had full control of the situation. Even if I told him no, he'd have to do it anyway. Better to agree with him than confront Stark himself.

"I don't mind."

He smiled; there was a slight moment of my heartbeat quickening and I found myself struggling to not smile back at him.

_That isn't proper behavior in the workplace, Romanoff. You were taught how to nod, smile, and shake hands. Follow those orders._

But by the time I made my decision, his phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and frowned. He glanced at me, then Maria and said, "Sorry, gotta take this." He walked away, the softness in voice going harsh as he spoke to the person on the other line.

Maria grabbed me by shoulders, turned me around and shoved me forward, saying, "We need to finish, Tash. Get to work."

I complied, wondering why she didn't ask about the way I was acting, and decided that even if she did, I wouldn't know what to say to her.

 

The expensive champagne tasted too sweet as I gulped it down. I stood in the very back of the room, near the elevators, because I already told Nick earlier that I wasn't staying for too long. People were busy chatting or eating their dinners while a smooth jazz band played up on the stage. Maria ditched me to go talk to some of Pierce's men which I found particularly odd; she often ignored them during services like this. Whatever her intentions were tonight, I knew for a fact that Nick had most definitely put her up to it. He always manages to do so.

A couple minutes ago, Clint had texted me. _Staying late in the office again tonight babe. See you when I get home_.

And I was more than pissed off. I was livid. We made reservations at our favorite restaurant tonight since we haven't went on a date since the beginning of July. Over at Hawk Industries, he seemed to be getting products, such as cellphones and tablets, ready for patenting during the fall. In order to accomplish this, he spent longer hours away from home, away from _me_ , inside his office. To keep myself busy while he was gone, I started teaching evening dance classes. But nothing I did could keep these intense emotions at bay.

I was scanning over the room when a hand gently gripped my shoulder. I didn't freak out or panic.

Because I recognized the scent of pencil shavings and crisp paper from a mile away.

I smiled. "What is it, Rogers?"

He removed his hand and out of the corner of my eye, I saw him shrug. "Thought you looked a little lonely standing here by yourself."

"I don't need any company."

He continued on as if I hadn't spoken. "That, and you're kinda about to smash your glass into a thousand pieces. Might as well cheer you up."

I drank the remaining contents of my glass and placed it on a vacant tray beside me. Arms crossed, I turned to Steve. Unlike Clint, who only had a couple inches on me, Steve was a whole foot taller. I craned my head up to meet his eyes, stare fierce.

"Shouldn't you be doing your job?"

"Shouldn't you be doing yours?"

I squinted my eyes at him. "Fury didn't give me any orders tonight. As far as I know, he doesn't want me speaking to Pierce or his men."

His gaze left mine for a slight second, but before he spoke, I said, "Maria's his second in command. Her priorities are different than mine are."

He nodded.

I sighed. I felt my arms fall to my sides. "Look, Steve, I...I'm not exactly in the best of moods right now, so can you please just go?"

His eyes searched my face. I stood still when he took a step closer. He shook his head. "I told you I'm trying to cheer you up."

I couldn't fight the frustration in my voice. "And I told _you_ that I'm not in the mood!"

_Control your composure, control your composure, control your composure…_

"Something wrong?"

We both turned to Maria who had her arms crossed and an eyebrow raised at us.

I pursed my lips. I brushed past Steve and pressed the elevator button. The moment the doors opened, I stepped inside and faced them.

"I'll call you later," I told her. My gaze landed on Steve and I glared. "Have a good night."

Before they got the chance to say anything, the doors closed and classical music filled my ears on the way down.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha Romanoff begins to question her relationship with engineer Clint Barton after meeting one of Tony Stark's best friends, Steve Rogers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos and bookmarks! This chapter is short but important.

The buzzer to the gate out front went off two hours after I got home. By home, I meant Clint's private estate mansion; since we've gotten engaged, I moved out of my small apartment and in with him. Visitors had to pass through a security check before you opened the big black gates. I hopped off the couch, dressed in a long, silky nightgown, as I headed towards the intercom near the front door.

I pressed the respond button. "Who is it?"

A snarky voice responded back. "Your worse nightmare, Romanoff."

I shook my head while pressing another button.

Five minutes later and Maria came into the living room, hand on her hip, watching me with fascination as I texted Clint from my spot on the couch. _It's past 10. Where are u?_

"You're going to give me an explanation because I have better things to do than visit you right now."

"I—"

Maria came over in fast strides and quickly grabbed me by my wrist and yanked me out my seat. I looked from my wrist then back at her. She was frowning.

"Natasha, you're getting married soon. A couple months." She whispered, grip tightening. Then, she let go and ran a hand through her hair. "You're lucky Clint declined your invitation to the party and that he didn't see what I saw tonight."

I plopped down on the couch, laying my head on the soft cushion. Was it just me or did the ceiling seem more appealing than usual? "I can't help it if I flirt, Maria. It's all in good fun. You know that."

Maria sat down beside me and gave me a look. "That wasn't all there was to it, though. Your voice, your face? Anyone could tell what you really felt. _I_ know what you really felt."

She was wrong. She had to be. I loved Clint. He might have been a little on the rough side, but he was the best partner you could possibly have. "Yeah, well, whatever you thought I felt tonight was obviously wrong. I flirt too much. I'll change."

Maria narrowed her chocolate eyes at me and I ignored her in favor of eating the carton of vanilla ice cream that'd been on the coffee table.

She spoke when I made a move to go throw it out in the kitchen.

While chucking the carton in the trash, she said, "We've known each other for eight years now, okay? I'm not going to tell you what to do, but I'm only trying to look out for you." I turned to look at her and she looked down at me, face sincere. "You're like a sister to me, Tash."

I ran up and hugged her. She squeezed me tight and I whispered, "You're my sister, too."

When we let go, I suggested we watched reruns of _Friends_ and she agreed. What followed was lots of laughter and fun.

But I couldn't not think about what Maria had said earlier. What if she was right? What if I didn't really love Clint like I thought I did?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my God. I didn't mean to keep you waiting for an update. School just keeps me busy. I think you guys are gonna love this chapter.

“I hate fighting with him,” I told Maria. She took a day off to come and meet me at Starbucks. I gazed out the window and said, “I shouldn't have to be the one that always makes the sacrifices in our relationship.”

“He compromises just as much as you, Natasha,” Maria said after sipping her latte. “I think you're both at fault here. Him for being a jackass and you for being hypocritical.”

I glared at her.

“You do realize that you used to be the same way, right?” she said, rolling her eyes. “The whole _‘my work is more important than spending time with you’_ thing is exactly what you did to him before his company really started taking off. You can't blame him for thinking you'd be so nonchalant about it like he was.”

She had a point, but it wasn't entirely correct. I said, “You're right. He was relaxed about it. But there's more to it, okay? He doesn't put in enough effort to see me. I did. That's the difference between us.”

It frustrated me to know that I cared too much. Clint’s cared, he always has, just not as much as me. It's nothing but a minor mishap in our relationship to him that he thinks can be solved easily when it can't.

Maria doesn't respond. She's contemplating an answer without trying to come off as offensive. Not like it matters anyway. The woman insults me on a daily basis.

She sips her drink. I sip mine. I'm debating about whether or not I should speak when she says, “No couple is immune to life's problems, Natasha. If you really love each other you'll figure something out.”

I stared out the window and saw a man and woman arguing on the sidewalk. She tried to run away from him but he pulled her back into his arms. They both appeared to be crying. 

I don't remember a time where Clint and I _didn't_ reach a consensus.

“Yeah,” I looked away from the pair. “We will.”

 

Monday evening found me hauled up inside the kitchen, trying very hard to finish dinner before Clint came home.

When Clint and I first started dating, I used to cook my mother's delicious broth for dinner at my place. The practice was all but forgotten nowadays, but I wanted to spring up previous memories of our good times together. It wasn't much to fixing our situation but it was a start.

At some point while putting the bowls and silverware on the counter, I heard a beep go off in the living room. Weird. That was the door buzzer. Clint has the pass code to enter the gates. 

So if he's not at the driveway, then who is?

Turning the burner off, I rush to answer the buzzer.

“Hello?”

A woman with a British accent answered. “Hello! Is this the home of Mr. Clint Barton?”

“Who's asking?”

“Margaret Carter.”

I didn't know who that was. Nevertheless, I let them in. They were most likely a business associate of Clint’s that he forgot to mention were coming over. 

When I opened the door, I saw the woman get out her Audi. She wore a beautiful knee length black dress with a glittery shawl draped across her shoulders. Her hair was brown and wavy and her makeup was neutral, save for the bright red lipstick. She went around to the passenger side of the car and said, “Get your lazy arse up and park the car!”

From where I was standing, I couldn't tell who she was talking to. I heard the person grumble and watched them swing at Margaret before stepping out under the lights and—

“ _What the hell_ ,” I whispered.

It was Steve. He was dressed more casually than Margaret in a button down shirt and jeans. A scowl was on his face as he stared at her. 

“Really, Pegs? Too tired to do it yourself?” 

She threw the keys into his chest and said, “You slept the whole ride here. Do something useful.” With a flip of her hair, she made her way towards me.

Steve's eyes widened in recognition.

I wanted to melt in a puddle of my own displeasure.

 _Pegs_ is all smiles and pearly teeth and perfection. She screams happiness and exuberance. 

I used to be like that.

“Is Clint inside?” She asked way too enthusiastically. 

“Ummm...no. No.” I say, shifting uncomfortably under her gaze. “He's at work. He'll be here soon though.”

Pegs huffs in disappointment and pouts. “Oh dear. Seems I rushed for nothing then.”

_Don't say it, don't say it, don't—_

“You can wait inside with me if you want.” 

Pegs smiles and glides past me, saying, “Thank you!”

“Your welcome,” I mumbled, wondering why the world liked to play tricks on me.

 

“So, how do you know Clint?”

Margaret sips the water I gave her while on the bar stool at the counter. I would have given her wine but that was for later and not for her.

She says, “He has investments in my company at England. He's never mentioned me before, has he?” I'm about to answer when she adds, “Of course not. Otherwise he would have told you that I was visiting. If I had known he’d arrive later, I wouldn't of worried so much.”

“It's fine.”

Margaret stops drinking and pauses to look past me towards Steve. He's squinting at his phone and mumbling every time he sees something that interests him. She nods at him.

“I used to be an assistant war general when I met Steve. He was so sweet and charming and just...hopeful. He wasn't as tall or muscular as the other men, but he tried his best to be—” She stops abruptly, almost as if she revealed too much information and only now realized she did. 

There's a long pause. I wanted to assure her that it was okay, that I wouldn't tell Steve what she shared. But sometimes it's easier to say nothing than anything at all.

We sat in silence until Steve came into the kitchen and commented on what time it was. Apparently it was eight o’clock. Also, another new development in this stage of my life, I wasted time.

I don't even know why I trouble myself thinking about him.

 _You try to be thoughtful and that doesn't work in your favor. You are not Katniss Everdeen. The odds will_ never _be in your favor._

Though I didn't want to at first, my morals got the best of me and I served both Margaret and Steve dinner. I saved Clint some and put it in the fridge. 

While they were lost in conversation, I slipped away to go to the bathroom. I cried silent tears. With trembling fingers, I dialed his number. The phone went straight to voicemail. I mustered up the nerve to leave a message.

“Hi, Clint. It's Natasha. You know, your fiance? Call me back when you're done doing whatever. Oh, and uh, Margaret Carter is here to see you. See you soon.”

In my rush to exit the bathroom, I ran into Steve. He'd been standing outside, waiting to use the toilet. I should have told him about the other available room just in case this happened. 

We don't speak. He stares and I stare back. I'm pretty sure it's obvious that I was crying. He shuts his eyes and gives me space to breathe. But I'm not fine and none of this is okay. And I feel like the world is falling at my feet. 

He steps into my space. He wraps me in a hug. He tells me everything will be good again. I hug him back.

I hope he's right.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha Romanoff begins to question her relationship with engineer Clint Barton after meeting one of Tony Stark's best friends, Steve Rogers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos and bookmarks!

"Hey," Clint said, placing his briefcase on the marble counter top in the kitchen. He does this frequently even though he knows it pisses me off. Often I let it slide.

But it's eight in the morning on a Sunday and he only now bothered to show up.

I sipped on my coffee and kept myself busy by tampering with the microwave. I think one of the buttons on here was broken—

"Nat," he whined, coming up behind me to wrap his arms around my stomach. I shook him off and left him standing in the kitchen. "C'mon!"

He had some nerve to act casual about coming in at this time. It wasn't something he knew I'd take lightly because he didn't like me doing the same to him. Compromising was an important part of a relationship and I hated when he didn't follow on his promises.

No problem. I had more important matters to attend to anyway.

Clint refused to let it go. He was waiting for me at the bottom of the steps after I went to get my bags. I taught morning ballet classes at the Agency on Sunday's and spent the rest of the day helping the other teachers once my class was finished. Him blocking the exit was going to make me late.

I crossed my arms and tapped my foot impatiently. "I have to go to the studio, Clint."

His forehead crinkled like it normally did when he was confused. He sounded hurt as he spoke. "You're choosing your job over me?"

The words left my mouth before I could stop them.

"I'd rather work than spend my day dealing with your shit."

And he shut up. And I felt anything but relief. And I didn't have the strength to apologize, take those words back.

So I just left.

 

Dancing had been a hobby of mine in Russia. There was comfort in knowing music could relieve me of my problems.

"Can I get a shot of your impasse again, Ms. Romanoff?"

Well, most of them anyway.

Yes, Steve Rogers really was becoming a thorn in my side. Didn't matter how many times that man apologized to me; I wasn't planning on wavering. He would have to do more than give me meaningless apologies for what he did yesterday.

"Maybe after class is over, _Mr. Rogers_."

One of my students, Darcy Lewis, had spoken up from her spot in the corner of the room (she was doing her daily stretches on the bars) and proclaimed, "What's the point of him being here if you aren't going to agree with him?"

I had an answer prepared just in case she asked because, well, Darcy had no idea what boundaries were. "He's doing his job regardless of what I say, Darcy."

She scratched her frizzy brown hair in confusion, adding a tilt of the head for good measure. Her voice was a mixture of innocence and feigned confusion. The majority of her questions were asked to me in this manner.

"Yes, that may be true, but what if he actually has, what's that word you're always using? The one you use when I'm not, as you say, 'staying in my zone'?"

Another student of mine, Loki Laufeyson, had commented on this. He stated monotonously, "I think the word you're looking for is _manners_ , which you seem to completely lack by the way." The corner of his lip lifted slightly, as if he was amused by his own joke, while Darcy scowled at him.

I sighed, pausing my dance to turn to Steve, who sat patiently on a wooden stool near the door. I raised a brow. 

“Well?”

He had the face of a cute puppy when he was confused. His baby blue eyes were bordering on sweet like candy. The bad kind that made your mouth sour.

“Huh?”

“Are you going to listen to me or do your own thing?”

“Yes ma'am! I mean, uh, no— _darn_ ,” he said. I gave him a moment to compose himself. After a couple seconds, Steve regained his composure. “I don't disrespect a woman's wishes. All I want to do, however, is take a beautiful picture of a beautiful woman. If you aren't okay with that, I won't do it.”

I wanted him to leave so I could teach my class. Ever since he came in late this morning, he's been nothing but a distraction for my students. Instead of paying attention to me, they're focusing on his camera or what he's wearing or his attempts at funny jokes. And where does he get off thinking that I'll be fooled by compliments and praise every time he wants to snap a damn picture?

“I'm not okay with you doing that, actually.”

Steve was visibly stunned for a slight second but it went from stunned to awe immediately after. He said, “Wow. That's a first.”

The class stayed silent like they were watching a movie that demanded their attention. 

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Why?”

He leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees, and stared until the fire burning in my veins cooled down. “Most people agree with me because they're aware of my friendship with Tony. They want to be in my good graces. This is the first time somebody didn't care about that and it makes you different.”

What he said got me thinking: was everyone so desperate to be friends with Tony that they had to use Steve to do so? The idea was foul. It's moments like this where I can appreciate my relationship with Clint. I loved him for _him_ and not his status. It was pretty much a guarantee that I was in this relationship for the long haul.

I felt a pit in my stomach knowing Steve's friendships weren't considered genuine enough to be real. Well, the newer ones at least.

_I'm sorry_ didn't sound sincere. Apologies were my enemy. If I said anything, it would come off mean-spirited. I bit my lip, wondering how Clint put up with me sometimes. _I_ can't handle me sometimes.

Steve fixed the camera strap around his neck and glanced away from me to look at the students. He nodded towards them and said, “I think they expected a show.”

“They were never getting one,” I said. To be in this business, you had to have class and handle situations professionally. The last thing I wanted was to cause a scene and make a big deal out of nothing. “Anything else before I continue the class?”

Steve put his hands up in defense, saying, “No ma’am.”

But I wish he would have said yes.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My laptop broke, I'm getting swamped with school work, and I'm convinced I'll never be truly happy. In other words, my life sucks. In more words, it's not gonna stop me from writing chapters to this story.
> 
> I'd like to say thanks to those that reviewed and favorited/kudoed/followed/bookmarked. It means a lot to me. Also, if you want to stay in touch with me, follow me on tumblr as bnksheartsu. You can also message me on here as well ff.net.

The rest of the week passes in a blur. I go to the studio and complete my hours then go home. The extra classes aren't stressful but I don't find them necessary anymore. They don't make me forget the problems I'm having with Clint.

On my way out the building, I catch Steve staring at me from his seat beside the desk. I nod and exit through the rotating doors. We haven't talked about what happened Monday night.

It's weird. We're not friends but we're not strangers either. He caught me at a vulnerable moment. And lately I've been doing everything to not be seen that way again.

That isn't me.

* * *

We’re halfway through August when I overhear Steve on the phone.

“Yeah, I know she...Yeah, Buck, I get it, but...No, she...I'm…”

I already taught four classes today and was planning to have lunch with Maria. She cancelled due to an emergency meeting. I didn't mean to stumble into Steve's conversation, honestly. He just happened to be waiting for me around the corner in the lobby.

Before he can notice me, I backtrack to hide behind the wall.

“Bucky, we've been over this. Natasha is engaged to Clint Barton. No, I haven't - She's engaged and Peggy is not that bad. Geez…”

So, Peggy and Steve are dating. Okay. That was pretty much a given. He also said he knew I was engaged to Clint - despite me never wearing my ring to work. I get the feeling that he knew this for a fact before the incident Monday night. He had to reinforce it to his friend, Bucky, like they had this talk a while ago.

That's another thing, his friend Bucky. I can't help but feel like I know him. Hearing his name sends chills down my spine and gets my heart racing.

Whoever he is, he doesn't understand Peggy as much as Steve does. The more Steve keeps talking, the more I start to suspect that Peggy has him wrapped around her finger.  
  
All I hear him say - “She's great” - and - “She's bossy but she's not…” - along with - “Of course I love her” - but it sounds forced. He's not just trying to convince Bucky.

He's trying to convince himself.

Once I check the hallway from my spot behind the wall, I walk through the lobby as if I wasn't eavesdropping on someone's phone call. I manage to appear calm and collected and when I see Steve wave, I smile.

* * *

 

Sometimes I still feel as if everything I've accomplished over the years amounts to nothing. I thought I'd be okay with how things are going between Clint and I but to no avail. It's like there's more to look forward to, more to watch out for. I know we can solve our problems before the wedding, before we're _officially_ together, but as of late, all that I've done is turning to shit.

Clint hasn't apologized for skipping dinner and he only mentioned it once because he wanted to talk about Peggy. He went on and on about their friendship and how her and Steve were attached at the hip. I nodded at some parts and frowned at others, all while thinking to myself, _How close are Clint and Peggy?_

Normally, I'm only concerned about me and my well being. When I have orders to execute, I'm completing them with the intention of satisfying myself. This time, I'm not doing any investigation for _me_.

This was for Steve. Steve who, undoubtedly, loves his girlfriend very much. I'm sure that if his life came down to it, he'd die for her. That's how much he loves her. Who am I to go into this without thinking about him? We may not be close friends, but I'm willing to bet he'd do the same for me. Wouldn't he?

I approach him after my last class is finished that evening. It’s a Saturday and, not unsurprisingly, I don’t have any other business to attend to after work. Apparently, he didn’t either, opting to stay behind and take his time packing up his equipment.

He almost dropped his camera when I asked, “How’s Peggy doing?”

He quickly placed the camera in his bag and said, “Good. She’s, uh, really good.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You sound skeptical.”

Steve sighed, running a hand through his hair and frowning. “It’s complicated.”

I grabbed a stool and sat down. “I have time.”

His hesitation was noticeable so I coaxed him into talking by placing my hand on his knee. He didn't flinch. Without taking my eyes off of him, I said, “I'm listening.”

Steve finally relaxed and said, “She's moving back to England.”

“What?” I said, because, well, that was hard to believe.

“Yeah,” he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “We haven't talked much about it but I know she's sad, you know? I…” He stopped and glanced away from me.

Instinctively, I held his chin between my fingers. There was more pain in his eyes than a little bit. “It's alright. You two are great together and the chances of you breaking up are zero to none.”

“I'm not an expert on long distance relationships, Natasha.”

I dropped my hand to my side. “Love conquers all.”

He gave me a look.

“I know it sounds extremely sappy, but you love her, don't you? I doubt you'd just up and leave her because of the move.”

“I'd never do that. She's the love of my life.”

“Then what's the problem?”

“I'm not hers.”

I thought he was naive. He obviously knew what he had with Peggy wasn't going to last. It was kind of sad to see him try to make it work between them. There was only ever going to be effort from him. I'm sure Peggy tried as well but, guessing from Steve's confession, that wasn't the case.

It seemed that both of our love lives were going down the drain. His more than mine. I could always fix my issues. It's a shame he couldn't do the same.

Maybe I could help him.

Steve finished putting his equipment away and took to leave the room.

Before he was fully out the door, I said, “Wait.”

“Yeah?”

“You have plans?”

His face scrunched in confusion. “No. Why?”

I smiled. “Well you do now.”

“I don't under--”

I collected my things and yanked his arm on the way out so hard he stumbled. We didn't stop running until we reached the elevator.

While we were waiting, he asked, “Where are we going?”

The elevator dinged.

“Somewhere fun.”


End file.
